


Demons

by Lazarusmycroft



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarusmycroft/pseuds/Lazarusmycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's brain is at the breaking point, John is there to help him as much as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

Sherlock had been brought back from exile only four minutes after his plane left the ground, he had been brought back for one reason...Moriarty. The detective was living alone in his flat, as he had been for some time now. He was completely consumed by his search for James Moriarty, how had he survived, how had he fooled Sherlock on that rooftop? It was all consuming, days would go by and he would have no food at all, not until Mrs. Hudson would put her foot down and practically force feed him. 

Some days, just to keep up the pace, he would revert to his old habits. It wasn't easy being the world's only consulting detective, having arch enemies, according to John that wasn't real life. It was, however, Sherlock's life which was why he was now in the position he found himself in. Sometimes it just all became a bit too much and he needed something to help, take the edge off. 

The combination of not sleeping, not eating, running around London at all hours of the day and night and the drugs was enough to drive anyone mad, for someone like Sherlock who had always been hovering somewhere in the grey area between sane and mad it was just enough to tip the scales. That is why John Watson found him kneeling on the floor with drug paraphernalia spread all about and his revolver in his hand.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" John rushed through the door and flung himself at the detective to yank the gun from him.

"It won't stop, John, it won't ever stop. I've tried so hard to make him go away but it's useless." Sherlock was disheveled, his usually starched purple dress shirt was untucked from his trousers, his normally glossy black curls were sticking up in all different directions and his eyes were sunken, deep purple circles under them, telling the tale of numerous sleepless nights. He reached up and put both hands in his hair and clung on to his skull as though trying to rid himself of some incessant noise.

"You're insane! You're an absolute psychopath!" Sherlock was shouting at someone only he could see, evidently, since there was no one else in the flat. His eyes snapped open and they were wild with terror. 

"You're ordinary, Sherlock. You can't even find me, can you? What good is being clever if you're useless?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP," John was becoming truly terrified as he stood rooted to the spot holding the gun limply in his hand. Sherlock was seeing Moriarty, as he had been on the roof of Bart's so many years ago. He was losing his mind, second by second he was becoming more and more mad, slowly edging toward that dark abyss where he would be forever lost.

"Mummy and daddy always did favor Mycroft, didn't they? It's because he was the smart one Sherlock, not you. No...not you." The apparition that took the face of Moriarty was grinning wickedly. Sherlock's brain was imagining him more sinister, more insane than he truly was. The terror on his face must have shown because at that moment John Watson was right there and he took the frightened detective in his arms and held on tightly. He could feel Sherlock shaking like a leaf as he continued muttering incoherently.

John had lost track of how long they sat like that, on the floor. John held him until the shaking ceased, rubbing his hair all the time. When finally he looked down he saw that Sherlock was soundly asleep. He had no idea how long he sat there, he only knew that he cried like he had never done before. It was obvious that the magnificent mind of the man cradled in his arms was about to break, something was wrong and he no idea how to help.


End file.
